


not with a bang, but a whimper

by waferkya



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Community: footballkink2, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:57:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waferkya/pseuds/waferkya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>This is how it ends.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	not with a bang, but a whimper

This is how it ends—with hearts running a mile a minute, their hopes still swollen, the right score so close, London calling like that old song that was never meant for their ears anyway.

This is how it ends—Iker exiled on the bench, restless and anxious and angry through the game and deflated, flopping back into his seat like a punctured balloon as soon as it’s over; he finds himself eerily calm all of a sudden, just watching, his eyes running down the trembling stands to the green, blinding pitch.

He’s calm. He’s out of here and out of himself and out of it all; this is what you get for your loyalty. This is what you’re worth—a place on the bench as you lose the biggest game of the season.

Iker is beyond pain and he is beyond anger and he is, simply, not Iker; if he was, his hands would be gloved. But his fingers are naked (and he hates it) when he reaches out to touch Sergio’s shoulder, the back of his neck—Iker touches warm skin and the damp material of Sergio’s shirt and this, he realizes, is what he cares about—that you could hear Sergio crumble and collapse from twenty kilometres, that you can see it on his face, how he’s breaking, how this is breaking him, and Iker—Iker can’t take that.

Gloves or not; armband or not; useful or not; Iker holds on to Sergio just as roughly as Sergio hold on to him, and it doesn’t make it okay, no word is enough to make it okay, but it’s something to fill up the void of the ground slipping from under their feet; it’s still something to keep him anchored and in one piece; Iker mumbles sweet nonsense into Sergio’s ear and promises him a thousand more finals, and titles, and good days and bad days and everything he can think of, he promises this is not the end, obviously, _obviously_ , how can it be the end?

Sergio sobs, shaking against Iker’s chest, his face buried in his neck.

This is not how it ends.


End file.
